


thorned lily

by romanono



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 16th Century CE, Anal Sex, Bad Touch Trio | Bad Friend Trio, Balcony Scene, Ballroom Dancing, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Courtship, Disguise, Historical Fantasy, Historical Hetalia, Inspired by Aladdin (1992), M/M, Pirate Spain (Hetalia), Pirates, Porn With Plot, Prince South Italy (Hetalia), Princes & Princesses, Renaissance Era, Royal Ball, Royalty, Waltzing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 20:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanono/pseuds/romanono
Summary: Set in a Historical Fantasy version of the Kingdom of Naples, 1560s.Prince of Naples, Lorenzo, is coming to the age where he needs to be wed, but is stubbornly refusing every suitor that requests his hand. He feels pressured to live a life he doesn't want, and decides to run away for good. But the morning after he escapes, he runs into a pirate on the run from guards―quite literally runs into―who calls himself Antonio. What will this chance encounter have in store for the both of them?Headcanon names are used.― Lorenzo is Romano.― Marcus is Rome.This is a blend of the pirate/prince trope, and the plot of Aladdin. Written by me, plotted by me, beta'd by @learninghowtosmutMature rating is for the inevitable sexual innuendos from Antonio, language, and will eventually be bumped up to Explicit in later chapters.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】带刺百合/Thorned Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20551808) by [athousandnights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandnights/pseuds/athousandnights)



―♚―

Prologue; Ntussecuso

Circa 1560s, Kingdom of Naples.

 

The sun beating down didn’t appear to both Lorenzo, his fingers dangling in the fountain water, a frown twisted on his lips as he looked over the vast gardens surrounding him. The flora that usually comforted him was doing fuck-all at the moment, though his brooding was short-lived once he felt the pressing of paws on his thigh, and a soft mew from his lap, drawing his attention downward. Meeting the big-eyed stare of his cat, he sighed, his shoulders slumping from that rigid, tensity they’d been locked up in finally.

 

“I thought you were napping, Bacio,” he cooed, voice softer than his mood had been, placing a tender hand on the cat’s head, which was promptly nuzzled into. “Or could you sense how much I want to scream right now? I bet you were just as irritated by that pompous asshole of a king, and how he strutted in like he owned the palace, like he was going to own _me_. Selfish bastard.”

 

The kitten just yawned and stretched, tail swishing about as he curled up in Lorenzo’s lap as his hand stroked down his fur, and he relaxed some more, shutting his eyes and enjoying the silence in the gardens. For now.

 

_Slam!_

 

“Lorenzo!”

 

The door was thrown open as he heard the shout, startling his cat right out of his lap. A heavy sigh escaped the prince, and he sat upright, peeking his eyes open in a narrow glare. 

 

“What do you want, nonno?”

 

“Why must you insist on - on causing such a scene like that with every suitor? You know it’s important that you succeed me, and I cannot let you do that without a King, or… Queen at your side. King Roderich was not even that _bad_...” 

 

King Marcus’s brows were drawn in, worry and exhaustion written all over his face. Lorenzo met his gaze unwaveringly, looking still very irritated, which only made the king sigh heavily, preparing to accept defeat. 

 

“Roderich was perhaps the _worst_ one yet. And haven’t I already told you that I don’t want to marry a woman?” he sighed, averting his gaze away from his grandfather, arms folded over his chest. 

 

“I know that, but that hasn’t stopped some women from trying. Desperately.”

 

“They’re not welcome,” Lorenzo said coldly. “If I’m being forced to marry, at least let me marry a man.”

 

“I _am_ letting you, Lorenzo, but you are… being very difficult. _Very_. You’ve cursed and stormed out on nearly all the Kings and Princes, even noblemen, that have come to win your favor! What more do you want from me? I’m getting _old_ , Lorenzo,” Marcus begged, looking worn thin. He might as well be graying, even if he somehow miraculously maintains a little bit of youth to his look. 

 

Lorenzo grit his teeth in irritation, standing up quickly, glaring up at his grandfather with a bitter stare, before walking past him dismissively.

 

“I want you to find a suitor that _isn’t_ some self-absorbed, cocky, good-for-nothing bastard that doesn’t even want me, just wants to take my kingdom and money and throw me aside for the rest of our loveless marriage and treat me like fucking _dirt_ ,” he ranted, stomping towards the palace doors quickly, as his grandfather sighed and turned to follow him. “Or else I will not marry _at all_!”

 

That seemed to strike a chord of frustration in his grandfather finally, and it snapped in two. “You have to marry, you know that! I cannot control what type of men they are! You _will_ get married! And soon! I will see to it!”

 

“I do not have to do a single fucking thing!” Lorenzo shouted, and abruptly shut the palace doors before his grandfather can follow, storming up to his room and shutting that door as well. Marcus remained in the gardens, putting his hands in his face, sighing in exasperation, eventually looking up to see that Bacio had still lingered in the gardens, and could almost be judging him with the look he was giving the king. For a cat.

 

“He’s being so difficult,” Marcus sighed. Bacio simply meowed and padded off to follow Lorenzo. Another sigh. “Even _you_ run off.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ntussecuso, noun. Neapolitan.  
> meaning irritable and touchy.
> 
> Notes:  
> ― This is Historical Fantasy, so there's no sexuality discrimination (that's widespread, anyways.)  
> ― I also headcanon Romano as gay, hence the fact he doesn't want women.


	2. Resolana

― ♚ ―

Chapter 1; Resolana

 

The moon rose into the sky that night, and the doors to the palace gardens creaked open, the only other sound to accompany being Lorenzo’s light footsteps, and the confused meow of his cat trailing behind him. No guards were posted in the garden ― at least, none that he could see. The door thudded softly as it clicked shut, and Lorenzo’s breath caught in his throat, welling in the absence of sound in hopes no one had heard. He sighed in relief after a moment, concluding that he was safe. But as he turned to head toward the palace walls, he felt Bacio brush against his leg and stopped to look down.

 

“I’m sorry, Bacino,” he frowned, crouching down to pet him. “I can’t do this anymore. You know that. I’d take you with me, but I don’t want to risk something happening to you. I...I might come back for you, if I can. But I can’t stay here and let my life be made for me.”

 

He bowed his head to press a kiss to the cat’s head, and slowly drew back, adjusting the clothes he’d fit himself into. After a lot of negotiating with one of the few maids he knew he could trust, he’d gotten ahold of some of the male servant’s clothes, and wrapped a long cloth around his head to conceal his face. Quickly, he ran along the walls, trying to find any way he could sneak out, eventually finding some loose bricks and using them to haul himself up. But now that he was up, he wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to get _down_. He stared at the ground below, and after a moment of fighting with himself, he took the leap, jumping down and landing on his side in the dirt. A shout of pain left him, but he quickly muffled it in his hand before it could be heard, holding his side with his other. 

 

“Fuck,” he hissed, slowly standing up, and beginning to hobble out toward the town. Hopefully no one would see him; it was dark, and his clothing weren’t exactly as flashy as he might be used to. He had hardly planned any of this, but that wasn’t going to stop his stubbornness. He was _free_. 

 

 **SUNRISE**.

 

Commotion spurred throughout the marketplace as the sun breathed life into the day, shops setting up and the smell of freshly baked goods wafting through the air. Horses gallop along at a slow pace, pulling carts filled with baskets, barrels, boxes, some filled with fruits, vegetables— he spotted one that’s nearly spilling over with fresh tomatoes, and delighted in the thought of getting to taste some— and some are carrying clothing, fine silks and satin and even jewelry. People heckle one another, and others greet each other warmly. 

 

It’s a different feeling than Lorenzo has ever felt in his life. It’s more chaotic, warm, unlike feeling above everyone that bustles about in the palace, he felt like his two feet were on the same ground as everything surrounding him. He feels as small as the rest of them. And it’s _freeing_.

 

Ducking out of the way of a carriage heading down the road, he slipped into an alley, seeking to see what the rest of the market on the side of these buildings has to offer. But as he is about to turn the corner into the area, something crashed into him, or _someone_ , sending them both to the ground. When he’s gained his senses back, his eyes meet another man’s gaze, who is now straddling him on the ground. 

 

“Get off—!” he suddenly shouted, trying to squirm free and shove this man off him, but the other clamps a hand over his mouth, shutting him up and ducking his head down. Lorenzo’s eyes widened, but the man craned his neck to somewhat see behind him, watching as a group of palace guards rush past the narrow pathway, shouting for a thief.

 

Once they were gone, the man pulled back. “Lo siento, but you might’ve alerted them. I can’t take my chances with being caught. On top of you like this? Ah, I don’t want some sort of accusation of harassment on top of my thievery,” he laughed, withdrawing and slowly standing up, offering a hand to Lorenzo.

 

“You’re a _thief?_ And you’re just admitting that to me?” he scoffed, ignoring the offer of his hand and standing up for himself. He holds his previously hurt side, where the pain has now been reignited thanks to their fall. “You must be more of an idiot than I could already gather.”

 

The man cocked his head to the side, but that stupid smile doesn’t waver. He seemed entirely unbothered by _everything_. That was starting to piss Lorenzo off.

 

 “What are you going to do about it, chiquito? You’re very small, I don’t think you could take a _strapping_ , handsome pirate like me,” he smirked, patting Lorenzo’s shoulder. “Your anger is cute, though. Small, but fierce. Almost like a little kitten. _Gatito_.”

 

Abruptly reminded that he’s not a prince anymore, he simply rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. This idiot even admitted he was a pirate in front of him. He must be cocky enough to boast his own crimes. 

 

“Is that supposed to be an insult, or a poor attempt at flirting?”

 

“If you’d like it to be, it can most definitely be flirting. And you may call me Antonio, or Captain Hernández. Whatever suits your taste, gatito.” Antonio flashed a lopsided, cocky smile. “And I still don’t know your name, so unless you tell me, I’ll just have to keep calling you gatito.”

 

Lorenzo narrowed his eyes. “I hate it.”

 

“Then, a name…?”

 

Lorenzo shook his head with a scoff, rolling his eyes and pushing past Antonio to head into the market. “I think I like the idea of making you earn my name a lot better,” he told him. “And I can give you a nickname, too. _Tontonio_.”

 

“Does that mean you’ll allow me to accompany you, gatito?” Antonio grinned, trailing after him like a lovesick puppy. “You don’t seem to know where you’re going, either. I know this little port like the back of my hand. I’d be happy to give you a special tour. No charge.”

 

“Is this ‘special’ tour going to make me regret this?” Lorenzo asked, tossing a glance to the side at Antonio, brows pinched in and lips pursed.

 

“You could ask _many_ men and women around these parts. I’m wonderful company,” he purred, stretching an arm out and settling it around Lorenzo’s shoulders, bringing him in close. “What is it you want to see, hm? You don’t exactly look like you’ve got money on you, so what are you doing here in the market?”

 

“I’m... new here, I’m just exploring,” he said. 

 

“You don’t sound like you’re not from here,” Antonio pointed out. “That’s a pretty Neapolitan accent, you know.”

 

“I meant _this_ town! I am from… a small farm village. South from here. In Calabria.”

 

“Are you now?” he asked, humming and looking Lorenzo over. Aside from the dirt that had gotten on him from their fall, he’d seem rather _clean_ for a boy from a farming town. But just as he was about to open his mouth and comment on that, Lorenzo interrupted him.

 

“I’m _hungry_ ,” he complained, walking in the direction of a food stand that had some delicious street foods out on display. Food he was not used to seeing in the palace, at that. He practically drooled over it, before shooting Antonio a look. “And I may not have money, but maybe my tour guide would like to accommodate me?”

 

He batted his eyelashes, giving Antonio a pout, looking about as helpless as he could. The pirate, ever horny, and already falling head over heels for this mystery of a man he’d met, reached into his pouch and splayed gold on the merchant’s stand while Lorenzo picked out what looked the most delicious to him.

 

“Tomatoes are one of the most incredible Godsends that has reached this peninsula,” Lorenzo sighed, ripping off a bite of the flatbread he’d gotten, and sticking it in his mouth. A pleasant noise escaped him as he chewed. “I’ve never had this...what even is it?”

 

“You mean pizza? That’s pretty common among commoners. Surprised you haven’t seen it, since you’re a farm boy, aren’t you? But maybe tomatoes haven’t reached that far south yet. They’re quite new here in Naples, I’ve only started seeing them the last few years. More and more each time I get in port. Still, it’s just flatbread. You’d know that.”

 

“Flatbread, right..”

 

Antonio raised an eyebrow, but decided to ignore it, his free arm resting on his shoulders again and sweeping him away from the food stand. “What else might you like to see, hm? I told you I’m a pirate, so why don’t we go to the docks? I could show you my ship, my _quarters_ —”

 

“Thief! Stop right there!”

 

“ _Dammit_.”

 

Lorenzo turned to see the guards running after them, and only for a second, as Antonio quickly grabbed his arm and dragging him along as he ran, slipping down another narrow alleyway, trying to get out of sight. But he took one wrong turn, and ended up in a dead end, spears pointed at them. Antonio placed himself in front of Lorenzo, who was still reeling from what the hell was happening.

 

“You idiot! I thought you knew this place like the back of your hand?” Lorenzo shouted at him, glaring at Antonio, both his hands raised in the air as he hid behind the pirate.

 

“It’s also been nearly a _year_ since I docked here, you know!” Antonio defended himself, pouting back at him.

 

“Both of you shut up!” barked one of the guards. “I’ve got no idea who this little _street mouse_ at your side is, but you’re wanted for stealing from the departing King Roderich’s carriage. You’ll be punished as the Royal family sees fit, but for now, you’ll have to suffer in the dungeon. If I were to guess, you’ll be executed.”

 

“You nicked something from a _King_?” Lorenzo gawked, head spinning from the fact that they’d just said he’d be executed. Was he really already that attached to this idiot?

 

“Listen, I don’t know all the Kings anymore. For all I know, it could’ve been just some baron—”

 

The head guard groaned in annoyance, and grabbed Antonio by the arm, shutting him up quickly as they started to haul him away from Lorenzo.

 

“Wait! Stop!” Lorenzo shouted, and the guards stopped, but only to laugh at him. Frustrated, Lorenzo tugged cloth off his head, revealing his face and hair fully. Specifically that pesky little curl on his head that had been hidden. “Release him in the name of Prince Lorenzo!”

 

Antonio felt like he’d just got punched in the gut. “P-Prince?” he sputtered. 

 

The head guard look stunned. “Prince Lorenzo?! What are you doing out here?”

 

“That’s not important. Let him go. He’s not going to be executed,” he ordered yet again, and begrudgingly, the guard released Antonio, shoving him forward. “He’s already paid a fine to me. So there’s no need to punish him. You’ll be leaving him alone now.”

 

“Your Highness, you realize that man is a pirate? And he’s stolen from royalty. This isn’t even the first time I’ve seen that _scoundrel_ get into trouble here.”

 

“I don’t care, you’re leaving him to go free.”

 

The guard sighed. “As you wish, Your Highness, but..” the head guard looked reluctant to continue. “I know that you were not permitted to leave the palace. The King was worried sick this morning. I’ll have to be bringing you back now,” he said, moving himself between Lorenzo and Antonio, his arm outstretched in the direction they’d be leaving. One of the other guards glared at Antonio as they started to depart.

 

Antonio, still having felt like he’d been punched, was hardly registering what was going on. He trailed them for a moment. “Does this mean I’ve earned your name, gatito?” he called after Lorenzo.

 

The prince laughed a laugh that could’ve been a scoff. “Maybe,” he responded, turning his head to give him a playful smirk as he was escorted away. That little smile struck Antonio a million times with cupid’s arrow directly in the heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> resolana, noun. Spanish.  
> a warm place that captures the heat of the sun.
> 
> Notes:  
> ― What we know as pizza was not invented until the 1800s, but there's record of the word pizza being used for galette flatbread with tomatoes and oil, sometimes fish, and was sold as a street food in Naples, during the 16th century. That's what they're eating!  
> ― Tomatoes also first are accounted for in Italy in 1548, Tuscany. The first Italian cookbook that used tomatoes was in 1692, Naples. So this is a little bit inbetween the widespread use of tomatoes, and it's first arrival.  
> ― Antonio is very bisexual, and very thotty.  
> ― "Tontonio" is a play on "Tonio" and "tonto", which means idiot/dummy in Spanish and Italian.  
> ― Gatito also means kitten, if that wasn't clear!


	3. Encantar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorenzo has to answer for his little escapade out in town. Antonio is smitten by the renegade prince that ran into him, and is set on winning his heart. Somehow.

―♚―

Chapter 2; Encantar

 

The heavy doors to the throne room shut with a loud reverberance throughout the room, and Lorenzo felt the tension weigh down on him as the clacking of armor and spears behind him rung in his ears. His face was pinched in anger and anxiety as he stepped up to his grandfather’s throne.

 

“Nonno, I―”

 

The king raised his hand to silence him, slowly standing up and descending the stairs to the throne. Once he stood in front of Lorenzo, the smaller of the two having his lips pursed shut as he stared up at him, awaiting some form of punishment. And then, suddenly, the angered expression dropped from the king’s face, and he enveloped his grandson in a tight hug.

 

“Why would you do that to me? I swear, you’re trying to kill me early, I nearly had a heart attack this morning,” he lamented, pulling back to cup his grandson’s face and get a good look at him, sighing.

 

“I felt trapped,” Lorenzo murmured, feeling slightly guilty, but still standing by how he felt. “I didn’t… I can’t marry some asshole I don’t love, nonno. I can’t let you force me to live a life I don’t want.”

 

The king sighed, almost dismissively, and pulled back. “Lorenzo…”

 

“I mean that. I don’t want to marry some king. I want _love_ ,” he insisted. “And if running away meant I could have that, I would do it again.”

 

“I… my hands are tied here, Lorenzo. You cannot take the throne without a King or Queen at your side, that is the law I followed, and the law your mother followed. And you should know that this Kingdom needs it. We need a union, a bond, with a country that has more wealth, and to strengthen our ties. This is perhaps the easiest way to accomplish that.”

 

“That’s unfair! There’s other ways to accomplish that, why should I have to be the go-to? Why should I throw my life away for something that can be done otherwise?” Lorenzo demanded, and Marcus sighed, turning his back to his grandson and slowly climbing the stairs back to his throne.

 

“Because, Lorenzo! It’s still _law_ , and you have to follow it. You are not as special as you want yourself to be. You _will_ marry.” King Marcus insisted, turning to face him again as he sat himself in his throne, brows furrowed in frustration with his grandson. “You are not getting out of it. And you are not running away again. You will stay in your room, go about your studies and duties, and I will see to it that you cannot leave again. Guards will be posted outside your door, and your window locked shut.”

 

Lorenzo opened his mouth to yell, cheekbones going red with the anger boiling within him, but a familiar arm being raised in front of him quieted him and he turned to follow the guards out.

 

“A moment, Lorenzo,” the king paused them. “ I have been considering an occasion to hasten this for a while. Instead of bringing suitors here one by one, I am going to hold a masquerade ball. On your birthday. Every man and woman of interest, will be invited. Including those that have already visited. You will be present, and you will choose a suitor. By midnight, if you have not chosen someone, I will choose for you. We will discuss this arrangement later, but it’s already set in stone.”

 

Lorenzo felt like his heart had been broken in two, and dismay hit his expression for a brief moment, before falling to a wounded glare. His grandfather sighed.

 

“Please, Lorenzo. Remember that I am doing this for you own good, because I love you.”

 

Instead of answering, Lorenzo turned dismissively, quickening his pace as he stormed out of the throne room, the guards trailing him as ordered.

 

**THE DOCKS**.

 

Antonio strode down to the docks with a daft, lovestruck grin stretched across his lips, and as soon as his first mate, Gilbert, saw him, he groaned in annoyance at what was bound to come. Antonio perched himself against the edge of the ship, eyes lighting up when he looked at Gilbert, with that stupid, telling smile he’d been brandishing ever since he watched Lorenzo be escorted off.

 

“What poor harlot have you declared love for now, captain?” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice as he hauled some boxes up the wooden ramp and onto the deck. 

 

“I haven’t even gone to the bordello,” the pirate huffed. “Not this time, anyways..” Gilbert simply snorted at him, dropping a crate of something down and dusting his hands off, placing them both on his hips.

 

“A prince,” Antonio suddenly said. Gilbert froze up. “The prince of Naples, in fact. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. And I made him a _smile―_ ”

 

“ _What_.” Gilbert turned to face Antonio, looking at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. “The prince? Toni, you can’t―”

 

Someone else cleared their throat, and the two of them looked to see the ship’s cook, a certain Frenchman, who had just ascended to the ship, folding his arms over his chest, quirking his eyebrow with a curious half-smile. 

 

“Prince?” he asked.

 

“Antonio has decided he’s in love with the fucking prince of Naples! I don’t even know how he managed to get within fifty feet of the goddamn prince! François, please talk some sense into him. He doesn’t listen to me.”

 

“He was out in town! I think he ran off, but I ran into him. Oh, he saved me, I was about to be thrown in the dungeon by some guards, and he told them to let me go―”

 

“ _What?!_ ”

 

“Gil, be quiet. Let Antonio be in love. I thought you learned he can’t be talked out of it while he’s still in his phase of puppy love,” François sighed and shook his head, turning to Antonio, searching for what to say to the poor idiot. 

 

Antonio wouldn’t let him speak, though. “I want to win his heart, Fran,” he confessed, sighing dreamily. “God, he’s so beautiful. When he finally smiled at me…”

 

“He’s a _prince_. You can’t just...fall in love with a prince. You’re not nobility, Toni,” Gilbert said, exasperated.

 

Antonio frowned, huffily turning to brace the edge of the ship and look out into the port, gazing at the marketplace he’d just escaped from, before his eyes flicked up to gaze at the tall spires of the far-off palace. If only get could get to Lorenzo, even for just another moment, he was sure he could win his heart. After a moment, his eyes lit up.

 

“What if I was?”

 

“Pardonne-moi?”

 

“Antonio, I don’t think we can steal _that_ much fucking gold―”

 

“No, no,” Antonio shook his head, turning to them again. “I can disguise myself… call myself a King, even. If you clean me up, maybe, and I buy some clothes.”

 

“Won’t he recognize you?”

 

“Not if we cut his hair and made him shave,” François chimed in thoughtfully.

 

“You can’t be serious. You’re siding with him?” Gilbert groaned. Antonio grinned even wider. “Who’s to say anyone will even fucking believe you? Don’t you think they at least vaguely know what the other Kings look like?”

 

Antonio suddenly looked like a kicked puppy, frowning. “Uh, well…”

 

“They don’t need to believe him,” François interrupted, and Antonio looked at him with a mix of hope and confusion. “I was just in town. And I was using my bit of money to buy something nice from the tailor. And he told me something interesting. The King has just hired him for a fitting for himself and the Prince, for a ball. Masquerade. All nobles, princes, and kings of interest are invited to win the Prince’s hand.”

 

Antonio’s face dropped even harder. “I’m too late? He’s going to be married? Dammit...why would you tell me that?!” he whined, pouting at his friend.

 

François stared at him for a moment before sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Antonio―you can _go to it_. Masked. Call yourself a king, prince, whatever, they won’t be any the wiser. The prince won’t be, either.”

 

“...You might actually have a _chance_. Jesus…” Gilbert shook his head, returning to what he was doing, far too exasperated by this.

 

“I can... I can win his heart? Fran, you’ll help turn me into a prince, won’t you? I _have_ to win his heart. I don’t think I’ve ever loved someone as much as him.”

 

“It’s been one day!?” Gilbert called from the dock. François waved him off.

 

“I can certainly help give you a shot. I’ve seen you talk about your little short-lived crushes. This one seems to have struck you particularly strong,” he said, placing a hand on Antonio’s shoulder. “I sure hope this prince is worth it.”

 

“He’s...he’s so very worth it. God, he… he stole my heart. He was so fiery, and quick with his tongue. And when I made him blush, and his face got all red, it was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. Like an angry little _kitten_ . I’m _in love_ , Fran,” Antonio gushed, tipping his head back and daftly grinning up at the sky, gesturing and clutching his heart. “And his hair, it curls so perfectly, like it’s never been messy in its life. And his eyes are so intense, gold in the sunlight. And the little freckles on his skin, like stars swimming in caramel.”

 

“Geez, I didn’t know you were a poet,” Gilbert scoffed and rolled his eyes, dropping another crate of goods on the deck before striding off toward the dock. François stopped him, grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward them.

 

“You’re helping us, Gilbert.”

  
“Ugh, _come on_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> encantar, verb. Spanish.  
> to love, to enchant. 
> 
> Notes:  
> ― I'm a little rusty on writing Gilbert or François, so apologies lol. Yes, François is 1p France, by the way.  
> ― Not my best chapter I think, either,, rip. It'll get better!!


	4. Amaretto

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lorenzo's maid, Emma, pries into his little adventure outside the castle while he prepares for the masquerade. Antonio and his friends sneak into the ball successfully, and Antonio attempts to woo the prince.

―♚―

**Chapter 3; Amaretto**

 

Lorenzo turned from the mirror, meeting the gaze of his handmaid, Emma, who gave him a pleasant smile, stepping forward to smooth out some wrinkles from his coat.

 

“You look quite nice,” she smiled, adjusting the collar and smoothing out the satin and lace that cascaded down Lorenzo’s sides, in beautiful golds and deep, rich reds.  The embroidery, so well detailed, illuminated his presence, and there would be no mistaking he was the prince, even with the masks that would be covering everyone. Especially with the jewelry he had yet to don.

 

“I don’t feel nice,” he complained, tossing a sour glance back at the mirror, his lips turned down into a pout as he saw himself. He looked beautiful, and he was not shy to admit it ― but he did not feel it. Emma gave him a sympathetic look, bending down to straighten out his pants―reaching his knee and poofing out beneath the frocked ends of the coat.

 

“You’ll be fine. Perhaps it’ll be easier to get to know some of them, with the mask on either of you. No pretenses behind it,” she tried to argue, though she knew as soon as Lorenzo sighed, she wasn’t going to be convincing him of much.

 

“Emma, it’s―I’ve already met most of them, and even been made to spend a few moments of alone time with some of them. Extravagance or not, they are all such pompous bastards who couldn’t care less about who I am. It’s infuriating,” he complained, keeping still despite how pissed-off his tone sounded. “I don’t want to be married. Why else do you think I would run away?”

 

“...I know, I’m just trying to help you feel less angry. So you don’t explode in the ballroom,” she sighed, and Lorenzo scoffed. 

 

“I just might anyways,” he huffed.

 

“What happened when you ran off? You’ve not told anyone. Not even the King. You weren’t out that long, so I was wondering just what you managed to get up to.”

 

Lorenzo rolled his eyes. “Nothing, really. I made it to the marketplace, and I was trying to look around, when this _idiot_ ran into me, crashed to the ground, on top of me and pinning me to ground. A pirate. Running from the guards,” he ranted, turning back to face the mirror with a telling half-smile, as Emma brought the jewelry box out and held out some jewelry for him to pick. “And he had the gall to start flirting with me and offered to show me around.”

 

Emma instantly got a _look_ on her face, a certain mischief she always had whenever she was about to pry into Lorenzo’s life and demand all the details on something she considered particularly gossip-worthy.

 

“Flirting? And giving you a tour? Did you say yes?”

 

“Yes, but-” he tried to defend himself before she could assume. She did not let him.

 

“You _did_?! Oh, my,” she beamed at him, looking delighted. “Was he handsome? Strapping? The other girls will say pirates can be so dirty, but I’ve heard some are so dashing and strong! Was he? Hm?”

 

Lorenzo looked taken aback, even now, by all her questions, even if he should’ve been expecting it. His cheeks flushed red, mouth agape as he tried to find out how to avoid slipping up here. “Well, he―I don’t know, I guess he might’ve been attractive..”

 

Instead of looking disappointed, like Lorenzo might’ve hoped, Emma’s face only lit up more. “You liked him. Didn’t you? Your expressions are very telling,” she snickered, looping a nice, fancy rosary around his neck. “You’re rather good at hiding how you feel, sometimes, at least around the court and King. But not with me.”

 

“Oh, shut it. I don’t―I barely even spent time with him! He was just... _charming_ , and I was momentarily swept by it. Nothing more than that. I’d doubt he even wanted me more than just a quick fuck. He was about to invite me to his personal quarters before the guards found us. Bastard is lucky I spared him and told them to let him go.”

 

“You _let him go!?_ Oh, you’re gone, aren't you, Renzo?  He really got you. You wouldn’t be so kind to him if he were just some perverted bastard with nothing to redeem him, like you’re trying to claim he was.”

 

Lorenzo had gotten nearly as red as the satin he was adorned with. “Quiet, Emma.”

 

“I’ll leave you. But, you know,” she started, taking his hand and clipping a fancy-looking bracelet to his wrist, even if it would be hidden beneath the lace ruffles of his shirt’s sleeves. Once she’d done it, she took his hand earnestly. “If all the men, and few women, down there, are sincerely not to your liking… I can always help you get out. And I’m sure I can convince my brother to help, as well. He works at the docks, you know. I can find you a ship out, something like that. Maybe even find your sweetheart’s ship.” She nudged him a little, with a teasing wink.

 

Lorenzo sighed, unable to fight off a little smile. “I’ll be.. I’ll be fine, I hope. I don’t know, really. It felt so easy after I fought with my nonno, when I was so angry at him...but I don’t want to leave him. I just wish he’d fucking...listen to me. But it doesn’t feel so easy now. I feel guilty.”

 

“You should be happy. No matter what,” she whispered, and brought him into a delicate hug, careful to not wrinkle the satin. He gave his weak hug back, a silent thank-you for her care. Withdrawing from the hug, she smoothed him some more again, and finished decorating him with jewelry, and tied his jabot carefully, before retrieving his mask from the ornate box it was held in.

 

“Here. The King had it made especially for the ball. Isn’t it pretty?” she asked, tipping his chin up to fit his mask on, tied in the back tightly enough to hold, but not uncomfortable. He peered through the eyes in the mirror to see himself, once it was on. The mask was handmade and decorated to perfection, covering his eyes and nose, shaped like a cat’s face. It was an ivory color, cracks in the paint showing it’s authenticity, with gold braiding along the edges, and deep burgundy paint mixed with vibrant gold, bits of gold flakes even stuck to the material. Some other decorations were fastened to it, like jewels and lace.

 

“It is pretty. Reminds me of Bacio.”

 

“You’ve always had a liking to cats, I’m sure His Majesty kept that in mind. I think it’s adorable. I wish I could attend as well, dressing up would be so nice. I’d get a cat mask, too, if I could.”

 

“Maybe you should go down there and court the men for me,” he snorted, a more happy smile taking his lips. She grinned right back at him.

 

“I’d only be so happy to fill in for you, but I’m afraid my body is far too different to yours,” she laughed, her hands shaping the air―comparing Lorenzo’s very small, curveless frame, to her own chubby and round body. “I think it would be too obvious. And I’ve got height on you, especially in heels,” she giggled.

 

“What a shame. You could’ve won over one of the few desperate women that can’t take a hint down there.”

 

“Maybe I’ll sneak down and do it anyways. You should get going, though. It’s almost time. Can’t be too fashionably late to your own masquerade, and it’s well on by now. The King wants you to have your own grand entrance. I suppose you won’t be too hidden, then, will you? Oh, well. Not sure what his plan is, exactly.”

 

“He just doesn’t want me to judge the suitors harshly because I know who they are. Unfortunate for him, I’m going to judge the hell out of them anyway.”

 

**THE BALLROOM**.

 

It had been remarkably more easy than either Gilbert or Antonio thought it would be to get themselves in. As it turned out, having a former nobleman on your ship helped greatly with sneaking your way into the Royal Ball. François played the part of “King Antón”’s royal adviser well, and was quick to sweet talk them in as King Antón, from a Kingdom in Iberia, and his ensemble.

 

The ballroom was large, ceiling high, and decorated immaculately. Decorations of flowers twined around pillars, and the floors and wall shone like they’d be scrubbed to heaven just to reflect the presence of everyone attending. Speaking of such, Antonio and Gilbert marveled at the sight of everyone’s dress around them. Of course, they had already been so astonished with how fancy of clothes they’d dressed themselves in. 

 

As a captain, Antonio was used to splashing out on rather fancy jackets for himself, but beyond that, he didn’t want to be mistaken for some stuffy nobleman, so neglected much detail otherwise. Unlike his usual, preferred red, François had suggested he wear a nice green, not a peasant shade, but emerald, bringing out his eyes that were visible through the holes in his primarily golden, beautifully decorated mask. Gilbert’s black and silver outfit looked rather drab in comparison, if he were being honest.

 

“How the hell am I going to find him here?” Antonio muttered to François, suddenly despairing as he realized just how many masked people were here. His prince could be any of them, as much as he’d like to think the myth of true love would be on his side and he’d known him in a heartbeat.

 

“You’ll know him,” François muttered, ever helpful, and just as invested in fairytale love as Antonio was. Gilbert rolled his eyes.

 

“You get his hopes up too damn much, you know.”

 

“Watch your language. We can’t be seen as savage, if we’re going to be nobility, _imbécile_. I didn’t give you that brief etiquette lesson for nothing, _Sir Gilbert_.” The Prussian simply rolled his eyes.

 

“I still dislike my new name,” Antonio pouted pitifully, hardly settled into his persona as _King Antón_. It sounded like a pompous version of his own name, which he supposed was the point, but he hated it nonetheless.

 

“You’re pretending you’re not yourself, _Antón_. And I picked you one as close to your name as I could get, so you would at least maybe respond to it. Your prince can’t know it’s you; a pirate can’t marry royalty,” François told him.

 

“I know, but I wish he could know it’s me...I mean, he’ll find out when I drop the mask, won’t he? What then? Do you think that cutting my hair and shaving me is going to actually work on him?”

 

François made a face that made it obvious he had not thought that far, as none of them had, and tried to pretend he was composed regardless. “...We will cross that bridge when we get to it.”

 

Gilbert groaned.

 

Then, suddenly, the music came to a halt, and a loud dinging sounded throughout the ballroom. The king stood front and center, on an elevated stage at the head of the room, holding a wine glass and tapping a golden spoon quite loudly to get the room’s attention. Everyone turned to listen.

 

“I would like to announce the arrival of our most important guest of honor, my grandson, Prince Lorenzo,” he said, stepping off. The long, velvety curtains were pulled back from behind the thrones, and Lorenzo stepped out, taking his bow before the people, who all curtsied and bowed in response, applauding him politely.

 

“If you wish to court him, please, feel free to offer my grandson a dance. I cannot guarantee he will accept though,” he laughed heartily, and some giggles from the audience were met, though much more fake than the King’s own had been. 

 

The King took his seat on the throne, and Lorenzo joined, seated in his own smaller one beside his, his hands folded in his lap as he gazed over the crowd in the ballroom, praying that no one would approach him, even if he knew it was inevitable. Much to his chagrin, a few men started to approach the marble stairs circling the stage.

 

Before they could, one emerald-clad man rushed his way in, having suddenly disappeared from his friends’ sides and reappeared across the ballroom. And he was desperately stumbling his way up those stairs without a thought, falling to one knee in front of thrones, a hand outstretched humbly. Gilbert’s hand quickly made contact with his face, and François sighed.

 

“Would you dance with me, Your Highness?” Antonio said, quickly and a bit cockily, sounding as if he’d never been attempted to be so polite and cordial in his life, and surely he probably hadn’t, but the Prince suddenly felt flustered. Where had he come from, even? He stared down at him, a bit surprised; this man certainly seemed  as presumptuous as the rest of them, but not as formal and stick-up-the-ass. He wasn’t sure if that was a point in his favor or not, to be honest. Still, he was irritated by such a rush to get him. As if he was the prize at the end of a race. The bastard couldn’t even wait his turn. 

 

“...I suppose,” he said slowly, and the King looked pleasantly surprised, sending his grandson an encouraging smile when he turned to face him, before standing up as the man before him did, as well, and taking his hand. “I hope you’re not as clumsy with dancing,” he remarked, a bit worried for his shoes, considering the man’s display. He led Lorenzo out to the dance floor, where the crowd parted to let them take the center, and quickly the prince assumed the proper position for ballroom, while Antonio stumbled into what he’d been taught in lessons from François. And the dance begun.

 

“Can I ask who you are, sir?” Lorenzo asked, stepping and swaying with the music, his hand resting on Antonio’s shoulder, letting Antonio lead―which he was not doing so well with.

 

Antonio chuckled. “Isn’t that meant to be a surprise?”

 

“I don’t like surprises,” he bit back, eyes narrowing from behind the mask. “Especially not for my hand in marriage.”

 

Antonio cleared his throat nervously, and pulled back, twirling the prince beneath his arm, before spinning him back into his arms. He really needed to put on the charm...all over again. “I’m a King. King Antón,” Antonio told him, dipping the man and giving him a rakish grin, that certainly did not befit a King.

 

“...I’m not sure I’ve heard your name before, on the invites, or diploma-”

 

“A bit forgettable, I guess. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t forget me after tonight, and all these other nobodies will be nothing compared to me.”

 

Lorenzo frowned; he must’ve been a fool to think any one of these suitors would be any different. This attitude was not uncommon, and he’d been hoping this Antón would be different. What a pity.

 

Once he was back up, he quickly changed on Antonio, gripped his hip and starting to lead the much taller man in their dance, and he picked up the pace, the footwork, moving in a way that Antonio was not schooled in it, exactly, and the pirate began to stumble along clumsily.

 

“I see. And why do you think you are deserving of me? Is it the right to the throne? Riches beyond your belief? Or maybe you just quite like the scenery in Naples, and think it should be yours. I’m sure it has nothing to do with _me_ , though, does it? Just like every other _stuck up_ , _selfish_ bastard that thinks he can woo me with a little soulless sweet talk. Am I right, _Antón_?”

 

“No, wait―I-I didn’t mean that, _that way_. I just figured I should...earn your company, and a place in your memory?” Antonio stumbled through his words, caught off guard, and still try to avoid stepping on the prince’s toes―in more ways than one. 

 

Suddenly, Lorenzo spun Antonio around, and dipped him, glaring daggers through his mask. Antonio, fearsome pirate captain of the seven seas, looked like he could piss himself. François and Gilbert visibly winced.

 

“Oh, I believe you. Just as much as I’ve believed every other suitor that’s waltzed into this palace and demanded my hand. Not a single fucking bit.”

 

And, with that, he released Antonio, who quickly hit the floor with a thud. Gasps erupted around them, and Lorenzo straightened his posture, looking down his nose at the fallen “king”.

 

“I do hope I never see you again, King Antón. Perhaps pay attention to your ballroom lessons some more, that was pathetic for a king. Good night.”

 

Lorenzo spun on his heel, and stormed out of the ballroom, down a hallway past the thrones. The King looked like he might have a stroke, unsure of whether to chase after his grandson, or calm the commotion in the ballroom. Antonio sat on his ass, dumbfounded, watching the prince’s silhouette disappear down the hall. A hand placed itself on his shoulder comfortingly, and Gilbert was suddenly in front of him, a hand out to help him up.

 

“...You’ll get him, don’t worry,” François murmured, a painful, not convincing smile on his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> amaretto, adjective/noun. Italian.  
> a little bitter. an Italian liqueur. 
> 
> Lorenzo was not exactly happy this chapter, hence the name. But I promise, the next chapter is a lot sweeter. And it'll be out quite soon after this one.  
> I also apologize for the long absence of updating. Just didn't have it in me to write. But I knocked out three chapters in three days, so we have a couple updates to go still.
> 
> As for Antonio's disguise name, I briefly considered making it a whole nother name, but I wanted to keep t hat stupidity of Aladdin's disguise name literally just being his but shortened. So his is Antón, which is still Spanish, but technically Galician. I don't call him it though outside of dialogue because I just find that shit awkward.


	5. Desiderio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Antonio goes to find Lorenzo and apologize. He ends up getting a lot more than that.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter contains smut. It starts about halfway through the chapter and lasts until the last paragraph. You don't need to read the smut to get plot, you can just pretend it fades to black if you're uncomfortable.

― ♚ ―

**Chapter 4; Desiderio**

 

As it turned out, the prince did not like the cocky attitude of a King. Antonio may have been cocky, yet charming, out in the marketplace, but that was a different circumstance. Lorenzo was pissed, and judging harshly when it came to every person in this room. And now he’d left it, and it was Antonio’s own fault for talking like a bastard, instead of just being himself.

 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” the King’s voice boomed out through the room, over hushed murmurs and very pompous, petulant suitors that were complaining over the prince’s attitude―again.”You have to forgive my grandson. He’s had a hard week. Uh, I’m sure he’ll be back out in a bit...don’t worry.”

 

Antonio sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “Dammit. I’ve fucked it up. I’ve ruined it with him, haven’t I?”

 

“...No, I wouldn’t say  _ that _ , you may still have a chance―”

 

Gilbert didn’t let François  finish that sentence. “Don’t sugarcoat it! You’ve just pissed the prince right the hell off. He stormed out. And now the entire ballroom is mad. The hell were you doing out there?”

 

“I don’t know! I was trying to be…a King, and King’s are all bastards, aren’t there? I figured that was what he wanted. Since that’s what this ball is for.”

 

“Antoine, he ran away, and right into you, did he not? Don’t you think there was perhaps a reason for that? If he liked you, out in the marketplace―be you.”

 

Antonio frowned. Gilbert shook his head, patting Antonio on the back, before moving aside to mutter to François . 

 

“Can you let me talk to him, for Christ’s sake? You put all this kingly stuff in his head.”

 

“As if you’re the one here that’s in the business of love. You get your heart broken almost as much as he does. When was the last time you even had a relationship?” François  shot back, a distasteful look on his face.

 

“Oh, don’t even go there. You act like you don’t encourage his dumb puppy love every time he’s hit with it.”

 

As they started to bicker, Antonio tilted his head to the side, brows furrowed as he watched the two start on it, but as he did, his eyes caught something in the distance behind them, down the hallway. The Prince? He wasn’t coming back out, but he seemed to be walked down the west hall, toward wherever that led to.

 

While his friends were distracted, yet again, Antonio slipped off, eyeing the hallway. Surely, it wouldn’t be so easy to just wander through the castle, there would be guards posted at the hall entrance so no one could freely roam and possibly steal or hurt someone. And there were guards, but they were currently focused on the King, who was getting flooded with complaining nobility that were upset their poor courtship wasn’t working out for them. Antonio grinned mischievously, and did what he did best―sneaking around places he shouldn’t in order to steal. But hopefully, he’d be stealing a heart.

 

Making sure no one’s eyes were on him, at least none important, he slowly made his way around the dancefloor, until he was hanging around the walls near the hall entrance. And then, he slipped in, and was quickly making his way down the hall, no one’s eyes on him.

 

West. He’d remember that, at least. Heading straight left, he slowed his pace, wanting to be quiet, and hopefully not alert his prince. As he made his way down the elegant halls, which were decorated with portraits of the royal family, and golden candles that dimly lit the way, Antonio couldn’t help but get distracted by one beautifully painted portrait of Lorenzo hanging high above him.

 

He looked so sour, even in his portrait. Was that just how his face settled, or did he truly always feel that bitter? He’d realized he hadn’t seen Lorenzo smile at all tonight, or look at all amused or delighted. When he was out in the marketplace with him, he’d been much more...free, both figuratively and literally. And Antonio had seen that smile as Lorenzo was led off, all for him, and he’d been chasing that delight he’d made the prince feel again―only to piss him off further. He must’ve really been rotten tonight.

 

As Antonio turned to keep heading down the west hall, he was stopped by a blade at his throat. He looked down beneath his chin, having expect one of the guard’s swords, only to see a very ornate dagger held by a...daintier hand than you’d expect of a guard.

 

“Who are you and what are you doing beyond the ballroom?” the voice demanded, a familiar deep, accented one that Antonio recognized after a short moment, and he drew in a harsh breath. 

 

“I-I can explain. I wasn’t going to do anything, I was coming to apologize to you, Your Highness.”

 

“King Antón? You don’t take a fucking hint, do you? I told you to leave me be, that I didn’t want to see your face again,” Lorenzo spat, withdrawing his dagger and stepping back. Antonio turned gently, his hands held in the air, the prince’s dagger still pointed at him. The Prince was no longer wearing his mask, and while Antonio was happy to see his beautiful face in full, that also meant he could see just how strongly he was glaring at him.

 

“No, listen. I’m truly sorry. Please,” he pleaded. “It was wrong of me to assume so much of you, and treat you like I did. I’m not like that, normally.”

 

“Sure you aren’t,” Lorenzo scoffed.

 

“Sincerely, I’m not. Ah, how can I make it up to you? Please,” he asked earnestly. Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed, and he clearly looked suspicious, and his expression only softened ever so slightly. He dropped the dagger, hiding it in his frock coat.

 

“Why are you here? I’ve never met you before, never even heard your name, and you’ve suddenly showed up at my ball and pranced in here, assuming you could earn my favor so easily. Explain that to me.”

 

“Well, I.. I’ve heard so much of you, you know? A handsome prince from Naples, who’s every bit feisty and doesn’t do what he’s told. Others that have tried to... marry me, they’re always so complacent, don’t care for me much and certainly don’t want to love me beyond...uh, my jewels and riches, if you will.”

 

“Right.”

 

“And I’ve heard...you don’t want the same. And you certainly proved that to me out there. I deserved it.”

 

“You did.” Lorenzo gave him a once-over, before dismissively turning to walk back to the balcony. Antonio followed him quickly, like a lost puppy, despite having no invitation to. That seemed to be a common thing he did.

 

“So I’m sorry. I’d like to make it up to you, with my company. I’m quite good company, a lot of people could tell you such,” he grinned, almost lasciviously. Why did that sound oddly familiar?

 

“If you start to annoy me I will call the palace guards.”

 

“I’ll do my best not to then, mi principito.”

 

“I strongly doubt that.”

 

The moon was high when Lorenzo drew back the sheer curtains and stepped onto the balcony. His missing mask was perched on the balcony’s railings, Antonio noticed, and he ghosted his own fingers over his own, debating taking it off. It was dark out, perhaps Lorenzo wouldn’t be able to get that good of a look at his face? He eyed the prince as he leaned on the edge of the balcony, a wine glass that had been sitting out here now in his hand. Had he stole that from the party somehow? No, probably the kitchen; Antonio should have seen come back in, in such little time.

 

“Do you not like balls?” Antonio asked, dumbly. “Ah, uh. I meant, you know. Like the ball that’s happening now, not―”

 

“I like them. I don’t like the selfish bastards that come attached with them,” he said, not defining which version of Antonio’s question he was answering. Antonio assumed he answered both. “You seemed unfit for royal balls. Seriously, what kingdom are you from? You don’t belong here. It’s incredibly fucking obvious.”

 

Antonio chuckled sheepishly, but the grin he sent Lorenzo was anything but repetent. “It’s very hard to teach me dancing. Ballroom, anyways. I’m more fit to rhythm, fiery dancing. Have you ever just danced, no set movements in mind, letting the music carry you? Ballroom is so boring that way.”

 

“No. They don’t teach princes that. Not in Naples, anyways. Some Kings in Iberia must have it different, I take,” Lorenzo remarked, sipping his wine. The glass was nearly empty, and Antonio glanced around for more, having the feeling that Lorenzo wasn’t just drinking for pleasure right now. He noticed an open, fancy, and rather  _ expensive _ by the name scrawled on, bottle sitting on the floor by his feet.

 

Antonio bent down, picking the bottle up carefully. Lorenzo nearly jolted, suddenly protective over his wine. “Hey, don’t think you can steal my wine. Get your own,” he said, reaching to grab the bottle from him.

 

Antonio immediately held it above his head, where the prince certainly could not reach. He heard a growl-like noise come from the shorter man, and amusement flashed over his face. “Relax, gatito. I wasn’t going to steal. Maybe. I was going to offer to fill your glass up for you.”

 

Lorenzo looked briefly stunned, and Antonio wasn’t sure at what, but he blinked it off and cleared his throat, holding his glass out. Though his brow was furrowed, looking quizzically at Antonio, almost judging him.

 

“Fine. Fill my glass, please. But take off your mask. It’s weird that you’re the only one wearing it now, and I’m not putting mine back on.”

 

Now Antonio had to look surprised, those he showed his differently; tilting his head, and giving him a confused little smile.

 

“Whatever you wish,  _ Your Highness _ ,” he said, though the title sounded less than respectful, as it should normally. Less like he was having his ass kissed, and more like he was being teased, in the fondest of ways. Lorenzo didn’t want to admit he preferred that.

 

After filling his glass up nice and high with expensive wine, that smelled delightful, and he wished he had a glass to drink some from―though all his instincts pointed to sipping straight from the bottle―he set it back down, careful to not knock it over or leave it in a precarious position. And then, he carefully slipped his masked off, untying the ribbons holding it on his head, and setting it just beside Lorenzo’s.

 

Lorenzo’s hazel eyes didn’t tear off him for a minute, scrutiny defining his brow as he watched. When he saw his face, he was struck with a sudden sense of familiarity, especially in those eyes, as the moonlight lit them up. But it wasn’t there, not enough for him to be certain, just...a nagging sense that he’d met this man before. Maybe he had met this King before, and just forgotten it. Or something else along those lines. He didn’t know.

 

“Do I know you?” he blurted out, his cheeks suddenly flushing scarlet―he hadn’t meant to actually ask it, but he wasn’t going to take it back. He hid his embarrassment behind another sip of wine.

 

Antonio seemed to almost get flustered himself. “Aha. I don’t think so. I don’t er, visit other kingdoms much? At least not, diplomatically. I love travelling but not for those sorts of reasons.” He sounded like he had no clue what he was talking about, and it was painfully obvious, but Lorenzo simply hummed in response.

 

“You just seem familiar, like something’s missing to you. I don’t know. It probably doesn’t matter,” he dismissed, turning his gaze away finally to the gardens below, drinking more of his wine. He was on the verge of tipsy, now, which at the very least meant he was less irritable.

 

“Maybe you’re just struck by my handsomeness?” Antonio suggested, half-joking, half-serious, with a lopsided grin playing on his lips. Lorenzo simply rolled his eyes in response.

 

“That’s definitely not it.”

 

Antonio looked wounded, giving him a pout and the eyes of a kicked puppy. “Aww, principito. You wound me so. I’m not even a bit handsome to you?”

 

“I didn’t say  _ that _ . I just said it wasn’t what was on my mind.”

 

“So you do think I’m handsome?” Antonio raised his brows, leaning on the balcony’s sturdy rails, closer to Lorenzo now. “If it’s worth anything, I think you’re quite beautiful and handsome, too. Like no one I’ve ever seen before. You’re...ethereal.”

 

“Ethereal?” Lorenzo repeated, trying to not look too flustered by his words, and failing miserably. The wine wasn’t helped, and his face was only getting redder. “I didn’t take you for one to have that kind of vocabulary. You seem too stupid for it.” And it was also making him blunt...er.

 

“Ouch. No, really. You are. Especially when you blush like that, it’s the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen, and I’ve sailed the seas and seen such beautiful places. Nothing could compare.”

 

“Are you sure you’re a king and not some travelling poet?” Lorenzo snorted, that pout lifting to a smile momentarily, the same snarky one he’d worn when Antonio saw him be escorted off. He felt his heart thump inside his chest, and he couldn’t resist moving closer, resting a hand on Lorenzo’s, which only proved to make his blush more scarlet.

 

“Maybe I am one at heart. Not everyone is born fit to be a king, even if they’re born into that place.”

 

“You’re telling me that.”

 

“I’d say you look every part the beautiful, dashing prince, but your heart yearns for more than the place you’re sitting. Doesn’t it? I think you deserve more, too. I think you deserve the world, and everything that you desire. Whatever it is that your heart so desperately seeks.”

 

Lorenzo went quiet, gazing up at Antonio, doe-eyed, every bit surprised. He’d never heard someone talk to him like this. Never. Every other suitor could put on the charm, say what they think he wanted to hear, but never nail his heart so precisely, and with such passion, and genuine emotion. He swallowed his pride thickly, his lips pursed into an unreadable expression, and before he knew how to stop himself―he was leaning in.

 

Antonio reciprocated. Their lips met, and every ounce of emotions poured into an unsure, slightly tipsy kiss, and Antonio was sure that his heart had melted out his lips and spilled all that rash, overflowing love he’d been harboring for this man. 

 

When they parted, Antonio looked smitten, grinning ear to ear, and Lorenzo rolled his eyes, but a little smile twitched onto his lips. “Idiot,” he muttered, quiet, just for them to hear, and it hardly sounded anything but fond. He grabbed the collar of Antonio’s jacket, pulling him into another kiss, more passionate this time around.

 

Antonio returned the fervor, his hands moving to rest on Lorenzo’s waist, holding him close as they leaned on the balcony’s edge. Lorenzo set his wine glass down, winding both arms around Antonio’s broad neck, draped over his shoulders, while Antonio’s hands gripped him closer, their bodies pressing together and wrinkling the expensive satin. He couldn’t care less about that, or how this was certainly not right for a prince to do, and he especially couldn’t care less about how Antonio’s hands slipped beneath his coat, and inched beneath his lacy shirt, touching bare skin with fingers that were warmer than they had any right to be in the cold night air.

 

A soft noise murmured against Antonio’s lips as a response to the touch, and the pirate was bent on making him sing like that as loud as he could. But he couldn’t be too presumptuous as he learned. So he gently withdrew from the kiss, which earned a whiny noise from the prince in his arms, who looked embarrassed to even had made it.

 

“Ah. How much...do you want from me? You’ve been drinking, I don’t want to be taking advantage,” he whispered, and though Lorenzo’s heart melted at the concern, he was still frustrated it had stopped at all. He proved to be a little bit needy, for a pure, Catholic prince.

 

“I want it. Now,” he demanded, cupping Antonio’s cheek and pulling him back roughly into the kiss, to which Antonio responded  _ very _ eagerly, starting to shed the prince of that satin covering him up. After ridding him off that jabot tied around his neck, he started to fuss with the buttons on his ruffled shirt, while Lorenzo tried to restrain himself from pressing up as close as he could get, just to allow himself to be rid of all this restriction. 

 

Once it was unbuttoned, he didn’t move to take it off―what with all the jewelry in the way, and the risk of being caught out here, it was better to be closer to dressed than bare naked―but he smoothed his calloused, warm hands over the soft expanse of his torso, travelling up to thumb at his nipples, which earned a quiet whine from the prince. It was beautiful, Antonio couldn’t help but think, and he pressed against them more roughly, pinching them with his forefinger, which got him such a delicious noise.

 

Antonio’s lips moved from Lorenzo’s, down his jaw, and pressing his lips to skin on his neck and scraping his teeth along, searching for a sensitive spot to lavish with attention. By the sound of it, Lorenzo seemed to enjoy any attention on his neck, but as he neared his throat, his noises grew more enthusiastic, and Antonio settled on marking a particular spot, with no regard for it being seen from either of them.

 

“Bastard,” Lorenzo breathed, sounded anything but upset with his situation, in fact when Antonio’s hand slithered down his chest, beneath the waistband of his satin pants, and the tights beneath, and wrapped his fingers around his half-hard length, he let out a rather loud moan, which he had to stifle with his own hand for fear of being caught.

 

With shaky hands, Lorenzo moved to try and push Antonio’s jacket off, not wanting to be the only exposed. Antonio withdrew only for a moment, to shed himself of it, before returning his attention to Lorenzo’s cock, who started to unlace his shirt despite how needy he was getting from his touch.

 

“Fuck,” the prince grit through his teeth. Antonio smirked, pleased with how his prince was reacting, and maneuver them so Lorenzo had his back against the balcony’s railing, his thigh between his legs, rubbing against his cock through the satin. Lorenzo threw his head back and moaned into his hand, unable to keep himself from grinding against his thigh, practically riding it.

 

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured into Lorenzo’s ear, to which Lorenzo could only whine in response, clutching onto Antonio desperately as he rubbed against him. “I wish I could undress you fully out here, see you in all your glory. Mm, but I wouldn’t want anyone to see you like this, or for my beloved prince to get too cold. I can still make you feel like you’re in heaven, regardless.”

 

Pressing his lips back to Lorenzo’s neck, he started to mark him up more, down to his collarbone, while his hands started to work his trousers down. “I don’t want to risk you falling off. You’ll need to turn around, or move to the wall with me, mi amor,” he told him. “I think I would prefer to see your face while I fuck you, anyways.”

 

Lorenzo felt like he was melting, a pile of goo in Antonio’s arms. But he mustered up the energy to move, muttering a “hurry” as he grabbed Antonio by his shirt, dragging him over to the wall just beside the entrance to the balcony. Antonio pressed him up against it roughly, his lips meeting his again with desperation, rocking his hips against Lorenzo’s with a gruff moan. The both worked his own trousers down, and he stepped out of them, before placing a gentle handle on Lorenzo’s thigh.

 

“I need to lift you, my prince,” he whispered, lifting one leg at a time, and wrapping them around his hips. Lorenzo wrapped his arms around his neck, back pressed firmly against the wall to support him. Spit on his hand was all he had, and he slicked himself up, before gently fingering Lorenzo open enough to be more comfortable, before he slipped his head in. Lorenzo cried out as he slowly penetrated him deeper, which Antonio was quickly to muffle with a comforting kiss. 

 

“It’s okay, mi amor, it’s okay,” he whispered, forehead pressed against his, a genuine look in his eyes. “I’ll be gentle. Tell me when it’s not hurting.” The way Lorenzo’s face had already twisted up in pleasure and pain was enough to make Antonio feel like he could release, but he wasn’t an amateur with sex, and he wanted to fuck Lorenzo until he couldn’t move, and see his prince come undone in his arms.

 

When he no longer felt pain, and had adjusted to the feeling of Antonio’s largeness inside him, he took a deep breath. “It’s okay, now,” he whispered, burying a hand inside his curly hair while Antonio started to thrust inside him. He lapped up all the moans that began to spill from the prince’s lips in a kiss, trying to keep them as quiet as they could. For all they knew, the King could come looking.

 

Gripping his thigh, Antonio started to pick up his pace, driving his cock in hard and deep, searching for that spot to make Lorenzo see stars. He was sure he had found it when Lorenzo nearly screamed into his mouth, and with a dark chuckle, he started to fucking him senseless into the wall.

 

“Do you like that? You take my cock so well, I’d almost think you an impure prince,” he whispered into Lorenzo’s ear while the prince writhed and moaned into his hand. “You’ll be impure now, and it’ll be a reward of my own. Ah, you’re so beautiful. Sing for me, mi amor.”

 

“Sh-shut up. Don’t want to get, nng, caught―” Lorenzo grit out, a high-pitched squeak coming out when Antonio bit down on one of the bruises he’d left on his neck.

 

“I wouldn’t let anyone see you. This is all for me isn’t it? Tell me it is, amor, I want to know for sure.”

 

“Y-Yes, it’s all for you, nng,” Lorenzo promised mindlessly, legs spread wide and taking his cock, pleasure numbing all his senses as he grew closer and closer. “I’m yours.”

 

“Good boy,” Antonio whispered, drinking in his moans as he slammed his cock deeper and deeper, wanting Lorenzo to feel him in every way possible, and that feeling to linger in the morning, so he wouldn’t be forgotten―no matter what happened tonight. “Are you close to coming, gatito? Beg for it.”

 

“Pl-please,” he whimpered. “Please, fuck―I just want to come. Please, please.”

 

“Then do it. Make a mess of yourself for me,” he demanded, driving his cock in hard, deep, until Lorenzo cried out for him and spilled onto his chest. Antonio made sure he could see his face, and the sight of it twisted up into pleasure burned into memory, and drove him forward. He didn’t relent, fucking Lorenzo into oversensitivity, until he released inside his prince with a moan.

 

After Antonio came back to his senses, he gently set Lorenzo’s legs down, but kept supporting his weight, both of them against the wall. He cupped Lorenzo’s face, drawing him into a soft, loving kiss, and brushed the hair from his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but both of them froze when they heard a noise from the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> desiderio, noun. Italian.  
> desire, yearning.
> 
> Notes:  
> ― I hope it doesn't seem like it's moving a little fast. Lorenzo has been yearning for Antonio and kind of spilled that into "Anton", plus he was tipsy, and instantly enamored by Antonio's smooth talk. It'll be tackled coming up next chapter. They're not going to fall in love instantly, but Lorenzo's a bit of a thot, and Antonio is a very obvious thot.


End file.
